Family Conversations
by Hekate1308
Summary: It was a normal Saturday afternoon until now. "Mum, did you hate Dad?" Sherlock/Sally, part of my ongoing universe.


**Author's note: It's been a while, and I wanted to add to my universe.**

**I don't own anything, please review. **

It comes unexpected. She should be prepared, but she isn't.

It was a normal Saturday afternoon until now.

"Mum, did you hate Dad?"

Her son looks at her with big, questioning eyes that hold fear in them, the fear of a child that its parents don't love each other, that one of them is going to leave, and she swallows.

Because she can't lie. She did hate Sherlock, long ago, and sometimes it seems to her like a dream now; now that she loves him and their children with all her heart, it's difficult to remember how they started, and she doesn't care for the memories.

But she can't lie. She won't. Her son has asked her a question, and she will answer it truthfully.

"Yes" she says softly. She doesn't bother to ask how he knows; he has obviously been reading John's blog and realized that the policewoman the doctor spoke off in "A Study in Pink" was here.

Hamish frowns.

"But – you love each other" he announces with all the conviction a nine-year-old can muster, and Sally has to resist the urge to smile. Hamish is serious, and they have to hear eventually.

"We do now" she replies and automatically starts playing with her wedding ring. As always, it calms her.

"Let's sit down" she adds and puts away the kettle. She can make tea later. Instead, she takes Hamish's hand and leads him into the living room where they make themselves comfortable on the sofa.

"You have read Uncle John's blog".

Her son nods.

"I was curious."

Of course he was. She isn't angry at him – both their children know what their parents do, and while she would have preferred not to have this conversation already, she was always aware that it was only a matter of time.

"Did you tell Cecily?"

Hamish looks almost insulted.

"No. She's too young" he answers matter-of-factly. Sally chooses not to imagine what would happen if the five-year-old found out that her brother is keeping secrets from her.

He looks down on the floor and chews his lip, and she hasn't let go of his hand.

"When you met Uncle John – "

She winces. She remembers warning him about Sherlock. She knows John has forgiven her for it, but it still makes her feel uncomfortable.

"I didn't know Dad, then."

Hamish looks just like Sherlock when he's confused. She continues explaining.

"You can meet people and not know them, not really. All I saw was a brilliant man who happened to be... impolite".

"You called him a psychopath" Hamish says. There's something in his voice, something that warns her he might start to cry because she was mean to Sherlock, and she couldn't blame him. Hamish knows what a psychopath is because – well, in their family, how can he not. "He isn't".

Naturally he doesn't understand how she could ever have thought that. Sometimes, even she finds it difficult to remember why she did. Sherlock is a wonderful father and husband, one who does experiments in the kitchen and solves murders and forgets to rest, but wonderful nonetheless, and very far from a psychopath. He's utterly human, utterly kind-hearted. Not that he'd admit it.

"He isn't. But I believed he was. I wanted to – " She pauses. "I wanted to keep Uncle John safe".

Hamish laughs because obviously the thought of saving John from Sherlock is ridiculous, and she joins because she can't help it.

Once they've stopped, she asks, "How far did you get on the blog?"

Because, while she thinks he is ready to hear about her and Sherlock's troubled beginning, she doesn't want him to know about the years his father spent dead quite yet. It's too much for a nine-year-old.

Hamish looks down again.

"I stopped after A Study in Pink".

She breathes a sigh of relief. One day, she will explain her role in Sherlock's fake death and the three years that followed, and how they slowly fell in love. But today, she has to make him understand that feelings can change.

"When you meet someone – you don't know them yet. And sometimes, you get the wrong impression. I didn't think Dad was a good man. But then I found out he was. And then we fell in love".

Hamish thinks about what she says before he finally nods.

"Mum?"

"Yes?"

"Can I ask Dad about it too?"

She realizes she must have sounded upset, because Hamish is now patting her hand, obviously trying to comfort her and worried because he caused her distress, and she hugs him.

"Of course you can" she replies gently.

Hamish's face lights up. She's glad he's aware she isn't mad at him. He has a right to know, after all. Not everything – not now, at least – but he has a right to know that his parents love each other and love him and his sister and that she doesn't wish the times when she thought Sherlock would best be in a cell back.

It says a lot that he came to her first, wanting to talk to her alone, his father at St. Bart's and Cecily at Greg's, playing with Georgina. Not only does she now know why Hamish didn't want to go with her, but that her son is as fair as he is intelligent. They did a good job.

"Mum?" Hamish brings her his favourite book, and he doesn't even have to ask. He might be able to read it himself, but he enjoys being read to, and she can't remember how often her or her husband has read that particular story. It's the best way he could show her that he's understood what she told him, that when they first met, she didn't like Sherlock, but she does very much now, and she smiles as she opens the first page.

They get through three pages before Sherlock returns with Cecily, and she only then notices how much time has passed.

Her husband looks at the book in her hand and smirks as her daughter rushes to Hamish and tells him everything about her afternoon.

Her brother listens ardently, but she can tell that he's concentrating on Sherlock, and her husband immediately notices. He frowns and shoots her a questioning glance, and she stands up and finally goes to make tea.

"Hamish wants to talk to you" she says as soon as she feels him standing behind her. "He read John's blog". After a moment, she adds, "He stopped after A Study in Pink".

Silence stretches between them, and she already thinks he's not going to say anything until he states, "You laughed about it".

He sounds amused, and she's confused until she remembers that she laughed when Greg brought up that Sherlock didn't know that the Earth went around the sun.

"I suppose I did" she answers, but it comes out forced.

There's a warm hand on her back, and he replies quietly, "I'll talk to him" before reaching past her and taking the kettle of the stove. When she turns around, he gives her a quick kiss before filling their cups and joining their children in the living room, and she once again wonders when he came to know her so well.

Probably somewhere in the last fifteen years.

She leaves the kitchen in a much better mood than she entered it and finds her husband answering her children's questions about the experiment he conducted at Bart's.

This evening, she visits Mrs. Hudson with Cecily so that Hamish and Sherlock can talk, and their landlady is happy to see them as always.

When she excuses herself and leaves the living room, she hears her daughter whisper to Mrs. Hudson confidentially that Hamish wanted to talk to their father and that she is taking care of their mother in the meanwhile and smiles. If there's one thing she's proud of, it's how well the brother and sister understand each other.

Her and Cecily leave some time later, her daughter happily calling "Bye, Gran" and as usual, Mrs. Hudson tries to shake her head disapprovingly but doesn't quite manage to do so. She talked to Sally once, after Hamish had called her "Gran" for the first time, and she made it clear that she approved. She's glad that their children have a grandmother. Even if she insists she isn't.

Sally doesn't have to send them up to their room so she and Sherlock can talk; since it's the weekend, the children are allowed to play for as long as they choose, and Cecily happily follows Hamish.

Sherlock's sitting on the sofa, and she moves to join him.

"How did it go?"

"Very well. Hamish is very understanding for a child his age."

There's wonder in his voice. Sometimes she realizes that he still doesn't believe he's doing well by their children, and she takes his hand and squeezes it.

Sherlock smiles at her.

"I told him sentiments are liable to change". After a pause, he adds, "I made him understand that those we harbour for each other or them don't fall into this category".

She smiles when she recognizes her husband's way of telling their son what she told him as well.

"And, did he – "

"Of course. Like I said, he's very understanding".

Something's still troubling him.

"Sherlock?" she inquires, trying not to let the worry seep into her voice, but of course he hears.

"He wanted to know if I used to hate you".

She didn't think she'd mind, but she does. The thought of him hating her is by now so absurd that she shouldn't feel anything. And yet – she hates the mere possibility of them hating each other. Most of the time, she forgets they ever did.

"He told me you admitted that you hated me".

Sherlock sounds sad, and she curses herself for not considering that he'd interpret her words differently than their son.

She clears her throat.

"It's easier for him to understand – saying I hated you. If I told him I didn't like you, but was impressed by the way you solved cases – "

"It seemed like you did" he states. "I thought – " he looks down, then shakes his head. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes it does" she argues. "I never hated you. I – you were strange, and you were brilliant, and I was jealous, and angry, and – Sherlock, we were different people back then. You don't – you don't really think –"

Until now, she's never entertained the possibility that he might hold a grudge, that somewhere in his mind palace, he might still doubt her, and she gets upset just thinking about it, but he takes her hand and decidedly shakes his head.

"No. It is simply – I learned long ago only to remember certain things consciously. I hadn't thought about what my feelings were towards you at the beginning of our acquaintance for years until Hamish asked me." He looks past her, out of the window. "It is interesting, how things turn out."

"Yes" she agrees with him. She wonders what she would have said if she'd found out she would eventually marry Sherlock Holmes and have children with him.

"We'll have to tell Cecily eventually" she continues. "And of course – "

She doesn't have to finish the sentence. They will have to talk about Moriarty, about what he cost Sherlock – but also about how he brought them here. She doesn't think she would have tried to understand Sherlock Holmes and fallen in love with him if the consulting criminal had never decided to play a game with him. In a way, she's thankful.

She would feel ashamed for it, if she couldn't read the same sentiment in his eyes.

"I am sure they will understand" he says, finality in his voice, and because the discussion has exhausted her and she can see he's tired of the subject too, she kisses him.

They have to tell their children about their past. That doesn't mean it has to mar the present. Or the future.


End file.
